MELON CURE

Trundled from trucks
look how they're piled on street stands
like dark green bombs . . . 

Careful: you mustn't drop them
they're loaded
with dawn --

The Chinese know when they're ripe
tunk tunk them:    their striped flanks --
listen:
They're drumming   the green tiger
in smooth    recumbent worlds --

Cool it -- inhale it --  smear
its clouded heart    that's crowded
with dew:  that you've taken   home --

Cut the wet melon's   crisp crimson
it's misted:     shot with slick seeds:
you'll smell	a mowed lawn . . .


Now you're eating it
its slice of coarse	solid fog
that's red     with fragrance . .

It might be a sunset.
Its dark green rind pales to white
that's sour    like the new moon

The center's too lush to touch
in its rose explosion:
lift it up      its grainy slush cave:
bite into it	nuzzle its cusp

that's swarming
that's chill      with roseness
purlieus

of Eos and Eve and Eden
in first     luscious flush

You're dripping	    dilute ruby,
there's juice	  on your face
                       cling seeds . . . 

kids pinch them          they squirt
like squids -- plip!
It's official. I pronounce you
alive --